Second Best
by governmentcontractor
Summary: One-shot, a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me. Tifa's thoughts post AC.


Title: Second Best

Summary: One-shot, a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me. Tifa's thoughts. Post AC.

Author's notes: So, I will out myself as not being in favor of Tifa/Cloud as a pairing, but my reasoning is probably not the usual. I actually like Tifa as a character, and I have trouble with the idea of her being with Cloud because I think she would have more pride.

Sometimes she wondered if he even thought of her as a person.

People, after all, had feelings that could be hurt if you ignored them, or acted like they were just there. Like a piece of furniture or a building that had stood the test of time – that had survived all the catastrophe their planet had endured.

She closed her phone with a snap, and considered the latest message she had delivered to his voice mail. She remembered her own gentle tone of voice, soft inquiries as to how he was and tentative questions as to when he might return home; all as though she had some right to ask anything of him. Based on past history he was unlikely to respond. Cloud would do as he pleased. Disappear for days or weeks at a time with no notice, and no matter how many times she called he would only check in if he chose to. He rarely chose to.

The bar was dim and empty at this time of day. Her patrons would arrive in a couple of hours, and then she would be surrounded by chatter and noise. She would expend her energy in serving drinks and delivering food to the men and women who chose to visit her business. For a time she could push thoughts of Cloud to the back of her mind. But in the silence she couldn't get any peace from the voice in her head – now so familiar – that told her she was playing the fool.

Tifa Lockheart was nobody's fool.

She stopped wiping down the bar. It was more than clean, and she decided abruptly that she needed to get out for a while. Those two hours loomed before her, and she needed something to fill them. Denzel and Marlene were in school, and there was nothing holding her to this building other than her own refusal to give in to the need to run. Today, though, she stopped resisting. She strode to the door, boots thudding on the worn floors, and reached for the handle. Pulling it open she blinked owlishly at the bright sunshine.

After securing the door behind her, Tifa considered a destination. There were no errands to be run, no shopping to do, and Denzel and Marlene didn't need an escort home. So Tifa walked, head up and arms swinging easily at her sides. She didn't pay any attention to where she was going, or the people around her. Eyes turned to follow her, but she ignored the interested looks. Sometimes someone approached her when she was out – a man would walk up and ask her innocuous questions, look into her eyes, and ask her for a drink or perhaps he would be more direct. She turned them all down flat. She could have accepted, she supposed. Maybe she should have. Maybe if Cloud had something to be jealous of he would finally see her.

But he had to be here for that to work, and so Tifa kept walking. As the minutes passed she began to realize her surroundings were changing. She was moving out of the better parts of Midgar, and into an area where no one lived. It was all rubble here, but there was a mostly intact building ahead. She knew it well. She brought Marlene here often; the child drew comfort from this place.

It was also where Cloud spent much of his time on the occasions when he was in Midgar.

Tifa's steps slowed as she drew closer to the doors of the ruined church. The doors hung askew, and there was only silence inside. Tifa moved closer, and peered into the interior. The pool of water was still inside, surrounded now by a ring of yellow and white flowers. Months had passed since everyone had been cured of the stigma, and no one visited the pool anymore. Tifa glanced to one side, and found the usual items – a bedroll, lantern, and a box of miscellaneous supplies.

Cloud still stayed here.

He had said he would come home. It had seemed he had found some kind of peace after the last battle with Sephiroth; a Sephiroth who had come out of Kadaj. But his stay at the bar had been brief – only two weeks and then Cloud had vanished again. When he reappeared, briefly, it had been to pick up deliveries in Midgar and then to take off again.

Tifa sighed, and walked into the church. A fluttering of wings indicated that she had disturbed a flock of birds that now roosted here. She approached the pool, and stood at the edge, peering down into the smooth mirror surface. Her reflection looked back at her. Dark hair, calm brown eyes, and her recognizable features; she also saw her hands, curled into fists. Tough and ready to fight, that was her. Was that the difference?

"Is that why he still chooses you?" Tifa asked the water. A breeze rippled the surface, causing her reflection to waver. "Because you were gentle and soft?" There is no reply that she can hear. "Why doesn't he turn to me?" she continued, voice gaining volume as she let her frustration take over. "Why?" she demanded. Another breeze, this one carrying the delicate scent of flowers, flowed over her. She shook her head at her own folly. If a ghost walked here, it only appeared for Cloud.

Tifa turned away from the pool, and uncurled her hands from tight fists. Her knuckles ached with the tension she was holding.

"Will I always be second best?" she questioned softly. Something brushed her right shoulder; gentle as a moth's wing. The touch, if it was there, was gone before she truly registered it. "Don't feel sorry for me," Tifa said, frowning. The breeze ruffled her hair playfully. Tifa turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. The pool was mirror still again. The capricious wind hadn't touched it.

Tifa shook herself. She was imagining things. It had been a bad idea to come here alone. She strode purposefully toward the open doors, but paused on the threshold. Her back was straight, her stance solid; a fighter's last stand.

"I'm going to move on," she declared quietly. No breeze or touch came to her. Acceptance, agreement, or nothing at all; Tifa still felt that she had her answer. She walked out, into the clear sunshine, and turned her feet toward the bar. She would finish setting up for the night, be there when Denzel and Marlene came home from school. And tonight, if someone asked, she would accept an invitation. For someone she would come in first. Someone who would come home, would return her calls, and who would see her as something important; a treasure to hold.

Finis


End file.
